“Shadow! Get in here! Right now!”
This time Shadow stood up, head raised, and looked at him. Alex could see the look of conflict in her eyes. Her head also darted between him and the old man who would be at the door in a matter of seconds.
“Shadow! Now!”
The dog slowly inched toward him, her eyes never leaving the shuffling Mr. Watts. When she got near him, the old man turned and reached to grab her. She growled and snapped at him, just enough to scare him. Only it didn’t scare him; he kept reaching. Shadow stood, frozen in a staring match with Mr. Watts.
“Shadow!”
She ran for the door, the old man’s blood-stained fingers grazing her fur as she went.
Once she was inside, Alex slammed the wooden door, leaving the screen door swinging open. He pictured Mrs. MacLean’s door, blowing in the breeze. Is this what happened to her?
A loud crunch snapped his attention up. Mr. Watts threw himself into the door, trying to get in; his milky white eyes glared through at Alex. A shock of cold ran through him as he backed away. Just as he was about to cross the threshold into the living room, he was forced to stop. Something held him back. He tried desperately to tug away, but he couldn’t. Shadow whimpered. His first thought was that something had gotten a hold of her, but when he looked down he saw that she was still attached to her now taut chain. He had yanked her by the fur across the room without knowing it.
Without taking his eyes from the old man slamming against the door, he muttered “Sorry, girl.” She sat and waited for him to take the chain off. He crouched but found that he couldn’t do it without looking, his hands shook so badly. He looked down and saw that Shadow was shaking, too. She knows what’s going on. He pulled the chain from her collar and hugged her tightly. Her fur was warm on his face, and his hug tightened around her body as he cried.
A loud crash made him look up. Mr. Watts had found the large window over the sink and smashed it with his head. Shattered glass fell into the sink. He tried to crawl through, but the screen stopped him. Blood dripped from the old man’s head where it impacted the window. He seemed unfazed.
Just like the people on the news.
The screen bent inward, held in place with only four small pins. Alex stood, hoping for an idea, but nothing came to him. Shadow stayed by his side as one corner of the screen came loose, followed by Mr. Watts’ bloody left hand.
“Come on, Shadow,” he said, and grabbed the dog’s collar. The dog growled again, and likely would have lunged at Mr. Watts had Alex not been holding her. “Come.” He wasn’t sure where they were going as he dragged her away. His plan only went as far as the living room.
The lower corner of the screen gave way and Mr. Watts shoved his head through, scraping it on jagged glass shards. As more blood dripped down his face, his eyes never left Alex. His slack mouth drooled a pink combination of saliva and blood and he let out a gurgling growl.
Shadow barked, loudly.
“Come!” Alex repeated.
With a snap and a pop, the bent screen flew off the remaining pins. Mr. Watts spilled in, his arms flailing into the sink.
Alex screamed.
Mr. Watts growled.
Shadow barked.
Shadow’s collar dug mercilessly into Alex’s hand as he gripped it. He ran to the front door, threw it open, and bolted into the street. He didn’t think to look for any other people—like Mr. Watts or otherwise. He didn’t think at all.
He just ran.
Even though he had let go of the collar, Shadow stayed with him.
He ran straight across the street and remembered that the Arsenaults’ garage was still open. He could hide there. He could even get into the house from there.
He went in through the open garage bay door and headed to the house door. Locked. He fought with it mindlessly. “Come on! Come on, open!” he commanded the door to no avail. Shadow barked savagely again.
Mr. Watts limped across the street, toward Alex’s yelling.
He was trapped.
When he spotted the garage door button, it was the best thing he had ever seen. With a simple push, an impenetrable wall would drop between him and the shambling but vicious old man. Looking at Mr. Watts with contempt, he slapped it as hard as he could.
Nothing happened.
He pushed it again. Still nothing. He hammered on it, again and again. The door didn’t budge. He then remembered: no power.
Mr. Watts was almost across the street. There was no back door from the garage, just the big gaping hole that Mr. Watts hungrily moved towards.
Alex grabbed Shadow again, darted from the Arsenaults’ garage, back into the street, and ran as fast as he could.
Down the block, he looked at his dog. Distracted, he tripped and tumbled hard to the asphalt. He turned over, expecting to have to shove Mr. Watts’ drooling, rage-filled face away, but there was only sky. He sat up and saw the old man down the block, not far from where he had left him, still tracking him, doggedly and slowly.
He can’t run? He is old.
He looked down at himself. He had scuffed the knee of his jeans in his fall, wearing it down to white. When he touched it, blood seeped through, staining the denim, and his leg stung. His hands bled too, and bits of gravel stuck to his palms where he tried to catch himself.
He also realized that he wasn’t wearing shoes. Or a coat. And, despite the shining sun, the air was chilly outside. Shadow licked his face and he grabbed her collar once again.
“Come on. We have to go,” he told her, as he pulled himself up. He jogged away with her in tow, taking care to look where he was going. He
